Impulse
by divine-demonic
Summary: god damn this is some angsty bullshit enjoy


Dipper sat on his bed, in the middle of the night, twirling a knife in his hands while he shook nervously. He glanced at the marks all over his arm. They were proof that he was weak; weak to the impulses that Bill put into his head. It was like a sick joke to him; let's give the little 13 year old going on 14 who already has depression and anxiety some overwhelming bloodlust, it'll be fun! He didn't want to hurt anyone, he didn't want any harm done, and he had promised Mabel he would fight back as hard as he could. But today he had broken that promise.

He looked over to his side. The sheets were stained slightly with blood; but, he thought, it would be easy to explain that away as a period accident. The real thing making him shake was the mangled corpse of a small squirrel, its stomach wide open and its eyes neatly scooped out and put beside it. He knew if Mabel woke, she would tell Grunkle Ford what he had done, and he would lose his trust. But god, he loved the sight.

Slowly, despite the disgust toward himself growing, he reached over to it and began to play with its organs. Soon, he had completely given in, and was sawing the limbs off of the corpse.

Dipper heard a rustle and a yawn from the bed next to him, and snapped back to his senses. He quickly threw the squirrel as far out the window as his weak arms could manage before Mabel fully awakened.

"Good morning, Dipper..." She muttered, too sleepy to display her usual energy and, thankfully, to notice Dipper's shaking. However, she did notice the knife on his bed, and sighed. "What did you do..."

But of course, Dipper was prepared even for such a stupid mistake as forgetting to hide his knife. "I- I, um. Cut again..." He feigned a nervous stutter, despite being rather confident in his lie- or rather, half-truth. He flashed his arm to her, and she saw the fresh cuts; not deep, only about the depth of a cat scratch. Mabel shook her head.

"You said you would try, Dipper." Her voice showed clear disappointment, and a pang of guilt went through the boy.

"I am trying, Mabel... I'm sorry."

Dipper walked away to the bathroom to wash off the small amount of blood remaining on his hands, and then looked in the mirror. He was a wreck, eyes hollow, little self-inflicted scars on his throat, a skinny to the point of unsettling frame, and skin much paler than it once had been. He didn't go out much since the violent impulses started. He didn't trust himself.

He began to cry at the sight of himself, knowing that he had taken the life of an innocent animal. And he kept crying as he stepped into the shower, turning it as hot as he could so it would sear his skin, thinking he deserved it.

The rest of the day went fairly normal, that is, until dinner. Dipper felt the itch to kill and hurt things again as he sat down at the dinner table. He had to hide his trembling and the tears in his eyes while he talked with Mabel, had to act like normal. And he was good at it at this point. They chatted for a while, and then Stan asked Dipper to go grab him another serving of ramen.

The boy got a terrible idea.

His shaking increased as he neared the kitchen, his knees knocking together and threatening to give out. When he got in, he prepared the bowl of ramen, and then tears started to stream down his cheeks as he rummaged through the trash.

There it was. The little freshening packet that came with the ramen flavoring, which clearly said "Do not eat." He stood in front of the bowl, trembling and crying while he silently begged himself to stop.

"Hurry up, knucklehead!" Came a call from the dining room. Dipper, in a panic, quickly poured the poison in, stirred the ramen, and wiped his eyes with a wet towel before coming out with a fake expression of calm on his face as he gave the bowl to Stan, before declaring that he was full and rushing upstairs.

When he got to his room, he collapsed onto his knees and started sobbing his heart out, his body shaking uncontrollably. But soon, as he heard retching from downstairs, it turned to a mixture of exhilaration and fear; and god, did it feel good. But he realized, through his adrenaline, that there was no way he wouldn't get caught for this.

He pulled his knife out from under his pillow.

He walked downstairs, hands trembling only slightly now, knife hidden in his shorts. He did a good act of concern for Stan; that is, until the old man passed out, and Mabel suggested calling the ambulance.

This was when Dipper pulled his knife out and lunged toward her, stabbing her in the gut and swiftly pulling it out, terror clear in his eyes. Mabel screamed, coughed up a bit of blood, and then yelled, "You! You did this!" and jumped on top of Dipper, fighting like a lion. But Dipper was aided by the huge rush of adrenaline and fear that came with murder, and despite his trembling body, fought back like a cornered beast.

Soon, Mabel had three stab wounds, but she had Dipper pinned on the ground. "Dipper! I fucking TRUSTED you!" She screamed, punching him right in the nose as hard as she could. "You're not my fucking brother anymore, get away from-"

"What's going on up there?" Came the call of Ford's voice, sounding a bit irritated. Dipper tensed up. He had forgotten that his other great uncle was home.

"Help me!" Mabel cried out, and Stanford rushed up to meet them, about to say something before seeing the scene before him; an unconscious Stanley, a bleeding, crying Mabel with small bits of guts spilling out, and Dipper pinned by mabel with a few teeth missing.

"Get away from my assistant!" Stanford yelled, and Mabel immediately let go. She opened her mouth to start explaining, but was interrupted by Dipper's noisy sobs.

Ford kneeled down to his nephew, who lay on the ground with some fingers on his left hand clearly broken. Mabel begged him not to trust Dipper, but her voice was lost behind her brother's terrified, nonsense babble; something about Bill being angry. And then, suddenly, he lifted an arm and swiftly stabbed his knife into Ford's skull. Shaking, he watched as the old man slumped to the ground, and listen as Mabel screamed.

His head was swimming; he could barely process what he had just done, and felt only the primitive need to defend himself as Mabel tearfully attacked him; he cut at her with his knife as well as he could, desperate to survive. And it worked; soon, Mabel had grown too weak from blood loss to fight, and he shoved her away.

"D... Dip... Why?" his sister rasped through her sobbing and panting.

He turned away from her and walked over to Stan's room, quickly finding one of his guns. Then, in an icy, unnatural calm, he went to bed, but found himself unable to sleep as he came to his senses. Soon, he was slicing himself to ribbons, bawling.

He grabbed Stan's gun and stumbled down the stairs, where he found Mabel, half-dead with eyes dull but lungs still breathing. She looked over when she heard the cocking of a gun. She began to cry when she saw her brother aiming it at herself.

"Bye, Mabes," Dipper said quietly.

Mabel smiled softly. "Bye, bro-bro."

And with a bang, everything was black.


End file.
